—at infinity's nexus.

          One who does not care well for their weapon will eventually find themselves betrayed by it. Wise words imparted to you during the earliest days of your swordsmanship training, accepted with no less than the solemn understanding borne of a dutiful prince. Spending as many hours with a polishing rag in hand as you did honing your bladework, even turning to less favored armaments simply to broaden the scope of your knowledge; a diligence continuously rewarded over the course of weeks and months as told in sparsely-given praise. Menial work beneath a royal’s pedigree, others would say, but you had felt none of their discontent as your own. It would not have been taught to you were it deemed unnecessary—such was how it’d seemed to you then.

          Gold-hued edges gleam warmly under a critical eye, Fólkvangr granted its due maintenance even when many a day passes in which it is never drawn from the sheath. Delivered back into your hands after being purposefully left behind in Askr, you were at first resigned to stowing it away alike a thief’s stolen treasure; its existence only revealed to the world in such times of crisis that you could not conscience favoring a lesser sword. Your fabricated identity had little rhyme or reason to be in possession of a regalia weapon otherwise—and consequently, aroused suspicion among the keener-eyed of your peers.

          It is a mercy that an even smaller few, made privy to the truth through means beyond your control, have kindly turned a blind eye thus far. A lie of omission is still a lie, after all, and one you’ve maintained for nearly three years now. (Not for much longer, you’ve decided. It’s long past time to wake up and face the music.)

          Gloved fingers trace over the stone set into the blade’s guard, crystalline blue emitting a soft glow in response. You know it to be a weapon forged in the distant past, passed down through generations of Askran royalty...though little else is recorded of its history. Different from the numerous treasures spread across other realms in that it bears no legend of its own, yet still a league apart from ordinary arms; mystically attuned to its wielder to the extent you’ve wondered if it somehow possessed an approximation of sentient will. But any answers Father might have had followed him to the grave, and you rarely write to Mother if ever.

she cannot help but think that alfonse is something of a stranger to physical affection with the way he reacts to her hug— frozen and only belatedly hugging back well after the fact. a giggle leaves her throat, for she is happy to be so trusted to the point that he would cling to her like this. she’s never seen him like this with anyone else.

unfortunately he pulls away first, despite the fact that she would be happy to hug him for as long as he needed it. something told her he wouldn’t quite be honest on that front even if she offered herself to him— offered to be there for him in his most vulnerable moments.

“you want to try working on your faith again?” she asks with a slow, curious blink. the smile returns to her face and she shakes her head in fond exasperation. “alfonse please, you are not imposing anything on me. i’d be happy to personally help you catch up with your faith studies. what am i here for as a professor if not to help my students, hm?” her reassurance is accompanied with the pleasant ring of laughter. “reason too i could help you with, if you like. though it’s not so much my strong point like faith is.”

          “If you’re certain it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like that,” he nods, taking a moment to bend down that he might return the basket to her hands post-hug. “I still retain the basic knowledge from previous lessons, so it won’t be as if I’m starting from the very beginning again.” Motes of light gather and dance along his open palm in demonstration of the fact; though capable of only two spells at present, it is two more than when he was one of the academy’s newly arrived.

          He is his mother’s son too, after all.

          “...Thank you. For your forgiveness, and for all that you do to help everyone here.” Boots click against stone pathway as Alfonse takes a step back, having occupied more than enough of her time for the moment while it is still her birthday. “I look forward to learning from you in the near future, Professor. For now I’d best move along in case others would still like to wish you well today—I hope the rest of it treats you with only the utmost kindness.”

          He smiles, brittle at the edges should one look closely enough. She understands that it wasn’t intentional, understands how the guilt had sat like a leaden weight in his chest for months afterward. What she doesn’t understand though—and never truly will—is the sheer toll Fódlan has taken on his psyche, greater in ways than the battles of his own world could ever hope to be. Tricked into striking friends instead of foes at critical junctures, their blood on his blade an unerasable stain upon his conscience. The accident aboard the Ichaival was the same yet not, absent of that external manipulation though still harm caused by his hands—and unlike those before it, was not granted the luxury of being struck from time’s flow. Remain it would; perhaps forever this time.

          But Alfonse speaks none of these thoughts. Edain need not shoulder what are his burdens to bear, for he is merely one of her students and nothing more.

          “...!” Askr’s prince stiffens, unexpectedly swept into the professor’s firm embrace. Long-acquainted with the distance born of his title, self-imposed or otherwise with only a precious few willing to cross it fully, his hands hover as if uncertain whether to return the favor. As if handling the most delicate glass figure for fear of shattering it. But Edain is no such thing, warm and most importantly alive, and if only for a little while—he clings to her like a lifeline, dwarfing her with his considerably taller frame.

It's with careful consideration that Pelleas regards today. For days up until now, he has tried to tackle the enigma that is his strange friendship with Alfonse, a man he knows to be exceedingly kind with seemingly no expectation for said kindness to be returned.

It was a selflessness Pelleas seldom saw, could hardly believe, but now that he has multiple times, he resolves to no longer be the coward who frets over whether or not any action on his part would be appropriate. If Alfonse could take this step into bravery multiple times, so could he.

And so after the day's classes have ended, Pelleas calls out, “ Alfonse, please wait a moment...! ”

There were no more chances today after this. He had to do it now.

“ Erm, thank you for stopping. I just wanted to tell you before the day ended: Happy birthday. ” He pulls out a wrapped parcel, holding it out to him. “ Here, a gift from me to you. You're always looking out for me, so I wished to do the same for you. I know it might seem a bit overboard, but um... I figured you were a popular kind of person, so I thought you might want to share it with your friends. ”

Within the box were an assortment of differently flavored cupcakes, each with a little piped zinnia made of icing to decorate them.

“ Please don't hesitate to tell me if you like one more than the other, or if none of them are to your taste. I'd like to be able to learn more about you so... well, so next year I can perhaps give you something better, i-if that's alright... ”

          Though an individual of royal blood and standing, Alfonse is hardly stranger to the experience of celebrations less grandiose in their design, shared with a select few loved ones rather than the whole of a land’s people. An open preference for one or the other he has deigned to avoid confessing, for both possess their merits when weighted against different occasions, but the prince will not deny a certain appreciation for the former in testament to a more reserved nature. Such that although a certain day has seen fit to alight upon his world once more, so far it passes with little in the way of significant fanfare— classes attended as though it were any other day save the occasional well-wishes from a peer or two.

encursed​:

w/ @alfvangr​

THEIR ‘FRIENDSHIP’ MUST BE SYNONYMOUS with rebellion.

Surely, it must be— why else would Veronica hesitate to call it 'friendship’ in the first place? Why else would she shy away from the Askran prince despite allying with him countless times? Why else does she rue their pair assignment to clean the library? There is a beast that threatens to burst from beneath her very flesh every time Alfonse passes a document for her to sort; or a book cover to wipe; or a damp cloth to use for the shelves. 

There is a fire-hot feeling of wrongness every time she cooperates. A strange sense of defeat every time she aligns with his whims. She thinks would rather become the dust she’s mopping up than stay with him a moment longer.

It’s no wonder why her Bruno agonized so! There is no way of showing mercy to an Askran that doesn’t feel like treason. But there’s a reason why her brother persisted, even if it tore him apart— and if he sees some merit to befriending them… she will try to do so as well. 

She finds the stroke of her washcloth against the polished wood of the shelves grow more aggressive.

“Prince…” Veronica says, her voice thick from a clogged nose. It takes all her power to not hiss, or sneeze, or both, “Work quicker. This dust is… not good.”

          It would be a lie to say he did not feel some degree of apprehension upon the revelation of their mutual assignment. Bridges are not built in a day, a week, or even a month; the gulf underneath composed of a depth well beyond the eye’s capacity for sight. Their numerable instances of temporary allyship and cooperation stand as the building blocks to a stronger, lasting foundation, but without mortar to bind them together they are just that: building blocks. A disjointed mountain liable to being toppled by forces outside their control.

          The fault is not hers in its entirety, Askr’s prince knows. Perspective is key— and he’s gained a great deal of it since learning the truth of his best friend’s disappearance a seeming lifetime ago. The divide between them can be closed, can be stitched back together into something new. He would give anything to make it so. For him...and for her, too.

          “Indeed it is not,” Alfonse agrees, an edge of sympathy lining the words. Though it is much less bothersome to him, the dust is a nuisance all the same; almost singlehandedly the greatest hindrance to their task as it clings to every available surface with time and neglect. “Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer a moment to rest, Princess? It should pose little issue for me to take on your share of the work in the meantime.”

          Something lurks the halls at night.

          Rumors abound, as they are naturally wont to do. Perhaps it is a ghost, some say, though whether vengeful or mourning or simply lost is subject to change with each telling. Others claim it to be an emissary of death, hunting for souls misfortunate enough to be caught wandering the dark. Those taken are never seen again, harvested of their lives and added to the ranks of the dead...or so the tale goes. Even more still exchange whispers of the few brave enough to risk glimpsing Garreg Mach’s phantasmal visitant, the moonlight their sole aide for fear of being seen— but concealment alone does not stealth make, their supposed bravery turned brittle as ice under the weight of its piercing gaze.

          Eerie red eyes and a hawk’s hearing, they would go on to recount after fleeing the scene in terror. A jagged maw from which seeped a ghostly blue substance like mist, the clank of armored limbs with each step it took. It is no mere work of fiction— something lurks the halls at night, and it is very dreadfully real.

          ...Such foolishness. He is a remnant of a dead land, stranded in this place and without purpose after failing his mission — nothing more. Devoid of a heart, a life, a future, the night better suits a thing of shadows, of death, such as himself. Nothing at all like the living, who dwell in the light; who possess what he so desperately wished to return to his realm in exchange for his humanity.

          Their awareness of his existence is inconsequential; he cares not what speculations and gossip they conjure in regard to his restless wanderings. Where the problem lies instead is in their curiosity, foolishly driving them to seek him out...though it is simply a part of their nature, where he has long since discarded his own or rather, tried to. It is an inconvenience at best, not to be entertained even once; eventually they will forget altogether, a wonder destined to lose its luster to the passage of time.

🌈- A memory about when they first fell in love

🌋- A memory about their first heartbreak

🏠- A memory about their childhood home/where they used to live

📷- A memory that comes with a picture they have

💡- A memory that comes with an object or keepsake they have

🔪- A memory about a dangerous situation

🎈- A memory about a time they were safe and relaxed

📔- A memory from a journal/diary entry

📝- A memory of them getting to know/meeting my muse

🔗- A memory about their proposal/wedding

🐥- A memory about their children (past, present, or future)

👘- A memory associated with an article of clothing they have

⚔️- A memory about war

🌅- A memory associated with a certain location

🏚- A memory about exploration

🛤- A memory about traveling

🌠- A time they wished upon a falling star

🐕-A memory of teamwork

🐺- A memory about being alone

🌟- WILDCARD

opnaskr​:

@alfvangr​

having already met the mortal— his kin— once before in his life, the god instantly recognizes the flash of blue hair he sees wandering the monastery. the happiness upon seeing the boy alive and well is but a fleeting thought in his mind as he hurries to his side. “alfonse!” he calls in what only could be described as an embarrassingly loud voice. “my good mortal kin, it has been far too long has it not?” he grins, patting the boy on his back before setting his hand on his shoulder.

“truly, have you been finding yourself well here at the monastery?” he asks with a gentle tilt of his head, his bovine ears twitching. 

          It’s a strange feeling. Two times, the year 1180 had run its course only to be rewound back to the beginning, overwritten but not necessarily forgotten. It had been well within reason then, to expect a third of the same— but it did not come to pass, and Alfonse finds himself strangely at odds with the fact. For the flow of time to carry on without interference now, an unexpected divergence in its own right... Why? To what end?

          He is troubled by the knowledge, for more reasons than he is willing to admit. Without leads or answers to draw from however, to worry on it overlong squanders time better spent studying or training with renewed vigor— his spellcasting proficiency, in particular. That is a conversation he’s been dreading for some time, knowing exactly who he must seek out for it, but... Avoiding the matter indefinitely solves nothing, and he has allowed the guilt to fester for far too long as is. Attempting to make amends is the only right thing to do under such circumstances.

          Adrift in his thoughts and unaware of the storm fast approaching, Askr’s prince nearly jumps out of his skin at the sheer boom of his name being called; royal gaze alight with disbelief as it follows the hand on his shoulder to the divinity attached to its opposite end. Though they had met but once prior, that single instance had left an impression he’d not forget anytime soon, if ever. “Wh- Lord Askr?!”

anruraiocht​:

Miranda feels her heart constrict every time she enters a forest. It has been years at this point, a longer timeframe than the time she had been locked up in that monastery, and yet she still feels antsy. Had she been alone, she likely would have given up by now, calling the task childish and returning to seek out a different one, but having a classmate walking with her allows her to hold her head up high. She will not be seen as a silly little girl who is afraid of the big scary woods.

Miranda’s answer to Alfonse’s question is immediate: “No, I do not.” She steps over a fallen log gingerly. “Fairies are just ridiculous drivel made up to pacify children. I half suspect that a joke is being played on us.”

She already knows that there are no such thing as fairies. She had prayed to gods and goddesses, to fairies, to dragons, to anything that would listen, but not once did she ever receive a response. That’s why the idea of a fairy that could grant a second chance at life did not sit well with Miranda. If such a thing really existed, then what? Had she gone to a strange forest and chased down a fairy, would everything have been fixed? No, the only person you can depend on is yourself.

“Regardless,” Miranda exhales a sigh. “We must at least check. I thank you for accompanying me on this excursion, Prince Alfonse.”

          Miranda’s response comes swift, without hesitation. Too swift, one might even dare to say, but Alfonse is not that person, possessed of enough tact to keep the thought to himself and focus on minding their surroundings as they walk instead. He does agree with her besides, albeit with fewer sharp edges involved— it is simply too convenient that there are suddenly fairies about where there had never been prior. And capable of healing potent enough to bring one back from the brink, at that. Hence pleasantly surprised should reality turn out to defy expectation, but no more. He certainly isn’t holding his breath for it.

          Miracles have never helped him when he needed them most, he’s since learned.

          “I’m glad to be of assistance,” Alfonse replies, gaze briefly flickering to Miranda. “We may not find anything in these woods, but I don’t believe it is a waste of time if this leads to at least some of those rumors being laid to rest.”

          Nothing appears out of the ordinary so far, that much is certain. The trees stand tall as ever, spring-green foliage overhead leaving room for only a handful of the sun’s rays to descend. Nature’s ambience is disturbed solely by the rhythm of their footfalls against the earth, and as the minutes continue to pass in this manner it merely proves they were right to have expressed skepticism. Turning back is well within reason at this point, unlikely as they are to find anything of note, but just as Alfonse intends to suggest doing so...

Rumor has it that life-giving fairies reside in a nearby forest. They say if you’re dexterous enough to catch one, she’ll stay with you and heal you even when you’re at death’s door. Investigate the forest and see if you can’t put these rumors to rest—or prove them true. [Grants Reason +1]

          It isn’t entirely unlikely, at least from Alfonse’s (admittedly skewed) perspective. When all manner of beings oft regarded as fantastical have been proven to exist in at least one realm or another — up to and including the gods themselves — fairies are not nearly so outlandish an idea as some have vocally expressed since the rumors first began. That does not necessarily make him a believer, mind; rumors bear little weight in the absence of proof, and as tends to be the case in these instances— they sound much too good to be true.

          All that said, still he agrees to accompany her into the forest allegedly serving as the fairies’ home. While only loosely acquainted with Miranda of Ulster at best, it is undeniably safer to travel together rather than alone— particularly in the pursuit of what is most likely a tall tale and nothing more. Not like the álfar that reside in his own world. Alfonse expects they’ll traverse the woods to no avail, return to the monastery empty-handed, and that would be the end of that. 

          How nice it would be if things could be that simple, for once.

          “Do you believe we’ll encounter any fairies, Princess Miranda? I’d be pleasantly surprised to see one for myself, with only rumors to go on.”

she'd seen him eye the spyglass earlier but give on it upon seeing how much it was priced at. that was all it had taken for her to snatch it up herself and approach alfonse on the ship later with the intent to give it to him. "alfonse! i have a gift from you from the market." she smiles before revealing the sought after spyglass. "you wanted this, right?" she hopes she isn't wrong in what she saw...

          “ Pr– Captain? Is something– ” Crystalline blues widen when he’s presented with the spyglass he had taken notice of during their earlier shopping venture — that which he passed over in the end owing to its sheer price against his meager reserve of coin. Had he been so obvious in his interest that the professor took notice and saw fit to purchase it in his stead? “ I...yes, but you didn’t have to spend your own gold just to get it for me...  ”

"alfonse! hello!" edain's smile is bright the moment she spots him, especially because she isn't addressed directly as captain for the first time in quite a bit since she found the ichaival.

it was also beyond that though, for alfonse was also one of her students back in the monastery. she'd be happy to see any of them in this situation. "yes, it would seem that way." a laugh passes through her lips to make light of the idea. "captain yngvi, they call me. very funny, isn't it?"

          “ I’d had my suspicions when I was told to seek out the Yngvi ship, but it is good to see you again, Professor. Or Captain, I should say. ” There is a certain irony to be had in the revelation, Alfonse thinks, but it is a thought best kept to himself in the interest of maintaining appearances. So he but smiles back, subdued and not nearly as radiant but not insincere, and clears his throat before continuing. “ Speaking of which, if you’ll pardon my imposition... I was hoping you would let me travel with you — if you’re intending to set sail, that is. One of the other ships turned me away, and it seems yours is my best chance of leaving this island. ”

allegreta​:

The Queen leaves this world, released from her suffering, and Leanne feels a sorrowful peace in her heart. She wishes she could have met her in a better time, a different place; at least, now, she can rest.

There is no time to reminiscence though. The remaining enemies rage on, and Leanne must do her best to assist her allies.

Melanthios uses Five Hundred Lashes: Leanne is critically hit and afflicted with Blindness [ Roll: 18 +6 = 24, -3HP; Leanne 9/12HP ]

Ashen Titanus uses Purge of Eternal Worlds: Leanne is hit [ -1HP; Leanne 8/12HP ]

Leanne cries out in pain, her vision blurring as light sears her feathers. The iron tang of blood is fresh in her mouth, her heart thumping violently in her chest. She reverts to bird form instinctively, flapping haggardly in the direction of someone, anyone friendly.

Leanne heals Alfonse with Heal [ Roll: 19, +4HP; Alfonse 4.5->8.5/10HP ]

“Alfonse! It’s me!” She recognizes Alfonse even through the blurred shapes; the young man is worse for wear than she is, his breathing sharp and painful. She alights next to him, channeling healing energy the best she can through the chaos. “I will heal your wounds.”

A great, horrible shriek. The sound of something monstrous toppling. The cessation of a malicious presence. The titan has fallen, leaving only the ringleader. And he, too, will fall. For Cameron. For Kai-Marik. For the Queen-Captain, and for all others this evil being has corrupted and used for its foul biddings…

@alfvangr​

          Anyone with the effort to spare towards observing the flow of battle would find it strange that Melanthios has yet to attack. Merely weathering the few blows dealt to his armored form without so much as a retaliatory blow in return, as if biding his time; looming ominously in their forefront alongside the Titanus and doubtless with some manner of intent up his sleeve. It is only a matter of when, whether they are ready for it or not.

Melanthios uses Five Hundred Lashes! Alfonse is hit and afflicted with Blindness [Roll: 10 +6 = 16] (-1.5HP) [Alfonse: 8.5/10HP] Ashen Titanus hits Alfonse with Radiance [Roll: 18 +3 = 21] (-3HP) [Alfonse: 5.5/10HP] Ashen Titanus uses Purge of Eternal Worlds! Alfonse is hit (-2HP) [Alfonse: 3.5/10HP]

          That when turns out to be now as one of numerous steel-clad tentacles slams into Alfonse, throwing him clear off his feet for the second time; the air driven from his lungs upon impact with the ground, gracelessly rolling a ways before stopping. His ribs feel tender amidst the disorientation, vision persistently unfocused irregardless of attempts to dispel it — blurry shapes encompassing all he can see through the haze. It is hardly so grievous that he cannot pick himself back up, but the sudden sear of light erupting from beneath his feet, accompanied by another blast of the Titanus’s magic, spares little time in tearing a cry of pain from the prince’s throat and rendering the effort a waste as he crumples yet again.

          The world sways. Every rattling intake of breath is a misery, limbs struggling to retain the strength needed to support his body’s deadweight. He needs to get up — it is the Sealed Forest labyrinth all over again, and the thought brings with it such a wretched feeling of frustration that Alfonse manages to channel it into the feat of standing once more. His knees wobble dangerously, azure irises still clouded over with semi-blindness; his hearing yet sharp enough to pick up the sound of wingbeats drawing close amidst the din of battle.

Claude heals the party with Fortify! [Roll: 3] (+1HP) [Alfonse: 4.5/10HP] Leanne heals Alfonse with Heal! [Roll: 19] (+4HP) [Alfonse: 8.5/10HP]

          “ Leanne...? ” True to her word, relief seeps into his battered and weary form, chasing away the aches until it no longer pains him so much to stay afoot. Though but a blurry figure in white when he looks at her, the Askran musters a weak smile in return for her kindness. “ You have my thanks, truly. ”

          ...But if she had just used her healing to help him, and Professor Edain had apparently done something to the Titanus that she would call for its destruction instead, then Claude must still be–

Alfonse buffs Claude with Rally Luck/Defense/Resistance! Claude receives +10% Crit and +4 Def/Res until Round 3. Ruse: Kass receives +5% Crit and +2 Def/Res until Round 3.

vaida​:

If there was one thing Vaida was confident in (which, to her credit, was many things), it was her ability to adapt to any situation. No matter how strange, no matter how vexing. The matter of the search for the Queen aside, the spectacle before her - and how these strangers almost immediately begin to work together - is, what she grudgingly admits to herself, somewhat impressive. 

Oh, yes, Vaida had taken a few hits, and had been healed just as quickly. She doesn’t even know these people, nor does she care; and yet, they hadn’t even hesitated to help her, hadn’t they..? She is grateful, but she will she say so aloud? No, absolutely not. Her thanks can wait until she’d returned the favor in doing what she does best - killing. With that vow to herself, Vaida settles into the shadows, and she waits for the perfect time to strike…

Now, Vaida has always trusted in her lance arm above all else. This would be wonderful, if not for the fact that she didn’t bring any of her proper lances with her aside from her javelin. Stuck with her steel axe as she is, Vaida chooses to make her move carefully; right after the Captain goes down, and she’s got another wave of healing from Claude. (Huh, the scruffy boy knows how to heal. I’ve definitely underestimated him…)

 “I’ll show you the true might of Bern!”

Vaida hits Melanthios with Steel Axe [ Roll: 18 +3 = 21, -2.5HP; Melanthios 25/28.5HP ]

Melanthios cannot counter

The mechanical sea monster is merely the icing on the cake of her no good, very bad adventure, and she channels that rage into the swing of her axe. Vaida doesn’t hold back in the slightest, and the mere sight of the monster she finds to be something right out of her nightmares.

“I am General Vaida, the Dragon Fang General! Remember this name, as it’ll be the last you ever learn, you overgrown squid!” Is it the thing even sentient? Vaida has no clue. She’s far too pissed to care. Vaida knows how lucky she is that it couldn’t hit her back - hopefully, this doesn’t backfire…

          Abruptly, the scenery transforms. In a flash of light, the cavern walls give way to a maelstrom swirling overhead; waves tickle their feet as the ocean parts all around them. Being among the last to make their way to where everyone has gathered, it isn’t hard at all to tell that he’s missing some rather important context for their current predicament — yet it’s with a sharp intake of breath that Alfonse recognizes the voice addressing the group, even if its owner appears to have taken on a different, more monstrous form. A year and a half is not nearly long enough to have forgotten the labyrinth in all its treachery and horror, the reality that he and others had needed to be saved from a battle they could not win.

          The thought alone is enough to instill a sense of dread within him. Yet this time feels different somehow, in some way; some allies moving to engage Melanthios, the armored titan, and what remained of the “ Captain ” in equal measure while others take to healing the injured. Even when the Titanus unleashes a wave of magic to strike all its foes at once — Alfonse himself sent tumbling by the impact before he’s drawn his sword — it fails to slow them down for long before they carry on all the same. It will not be like before. They can win — they must, to defy what Melanthios and his ilk have planned for Fódlan.

          “ Guys! Watch out! ”

          Leonardo’s warning makes little difference in the end — the Askran prince regaining his bearings in time for a gust of razor-sharp wind to slice into his shoulder, gritting his teeth as a hand presses to the bleeding wound. Before him, the Captain-turned-tree-turned-sylph falls with a dying shriek, felled by Alm’s hand in succession to a volley of arrows, and soon only two of their enemies remain to be dealt with.

          Alfonse feels something akin to pity for her, in that moment. Who she was prior to her transformation, he’ll likely never know, but the stranger’s wailing — her crewmate’s wailing, he corrects — speaks volumes to the fact that she had been loved. ...When this battle reaches its end, he too will mourn for a life cut short — and far too soon at that. However fictional it may be, it is no less deserving of such.

          A light washes over him then, erasing nearly all trace of his and everyone else’s wounds; Alfonse’s eyes finding their way to the source with more than a hint of surprise at sighting Claude as the spell’s caster. But the other is not without his own injuries, and Professor Edain, Leanne — they have already expended their efforts elsewhere. Their enemies are certain to launch a return offensive before long, and in the worst-case scenario... He should never have allowed his Faith studies to fall to the wayside, now that it’s come back to bite him like this.

          ...No. There is one way he can still help. He will not fail his comrades again.

Alfonse buffs Claude with Rally Luck, Defense, and Resistance! Claude receives +10% Crit and +4 Def/Res until Round 2. Ruse: Leo receives +5% Crit and +2 Def/Res until Round 2.

          “ Claude! ” A different sort of magic takes shape at the Askran’s command, motes of glowing gold gathering around the Golden Deer’s leader and swelling into a protective shroud. Though it does not offer any form of healing, it would at least shield him from further harm for a time — long enough for one of the aforementioned two to reach him, hopefully. And albeit weaker this time, having put much of his strength into bolstering Claude’s defenses, a similar shroud manages to reach and envelop Professor Leo as well. It is the best he can do with the hand he’s dealt; gods willing, it would be enough.

And then there's Kass. 

Looks like a drowned rat and probably smells like a drowned rat after dragging himself from his impromptu trip into the water, but what's a guy to do? This super strong tree lady is tryna break free and no one's lifting a finger to stop her... He had to give it his best, right? Whatever. All that aside, he's learned it's a lot harder to swim with an axe for a hand, now that the book's been oh-so kind enough to return it to him. 

Honestly though, it's kind of annoying how often these Garreg Mach kiddos seem to wind up in situations like this. If it were him, he'd just. He doesn't know. Transfer to another school or some shit. 

But while he's here... Milo's always been annoying as shit to listen to, the way Akantha is soooo into his orders is - gags.  

So. While he's got the chance... Yeah, Kass might be up for a little extra mutiny. "Die, ya ****!"

With some extra momentum, he swings his arm over, body, shoulder and all leading into the follow-through, and whack! There goes one weird Agarthan-y tentacle. Get ittttt, Kassss, you're so gooood at this gaaaaaaaaame~ Get bent, Mellywell~

dracofalchions​:

his fingers grasp firmly onto something solid as the youth braces himself upon the warning. he stands a safe distance away from the wooden railings of their vessel. wary eyes glance toward the part that broke during their monstrous catch’s struggle.   &   despite the hasty repairs, alm wouldn’t trust it to hold. a repeat of the earlier is the furthest from what he wants to experience.

alm wonders if their… little fishing mishap in the deeps was but a sign, the calm before the storm. maybe he should take back all his thoughts about their smooth sailing. even his past experiences in the open waters weren’t this harrowing! sure, his blade might’ve clashed against a pirate’s  ————  at least there was no active threat of their ship sinking!

this time, the young man can’t do anything to help against nature’s forces or the treacherous  /  cursed waters surrounding the isle of almeiira. alm can only place his trust in captain edain to bring them to the shore in one piece. so far, so good. that is until a flock of seagulls ambush them.

a quick swing of his blade holds the birds at bay   &   spares him from being scratched by their claws. yet, it’s not enough to scatter them. how are they going to…? before he could act, a few seagulls hit the deck, lifeless, with an arrow sticking out of each. alm’s head turns in leonardo’s direction, praise already on the valentian king’s tongue—

something lands on his head with a splat.

a second or two passes before his free hand reaches upward   &   then stops, green eyes widening upon the realization. a simple ‘yeah’ is the only answer alm manages to muster in response. (he’ll need to wash up once they are out of this predicament.)

alm’s heart almost leaps into his throat when the ichaival HITS something.

“hoooooly shit captain, look it the size o’that rock what almost took out the ship!” rivenn calls out to captain edain.  &   it’s one big rock, indeed: one that could’ve ended their journey there. and neither is it the last of the perils.

their ship encounters yet another whirlpool. where it miraculously swerves the ichaival past a batch of shoals, a rogue wave chooses to carry them straight into another. alm can’t help but cringe at the sound of the shoals scraping against the bottom of the vessel.

oh.

a screech in the air alerts him to the flock of the seagulls returning with a vengeance. by the end of the chaos they cause, more than one bird leaves him with a parting gift. (a good thing they have more than one bar of soap aboard, huh?)

@alfvangr

          Following the fishing incident gone horribly wrong, Alfonse had spent the subsequent days at sea keeping his distance from the rest of the group — as much as one can when aboard a ship with a limited number of ways to remain largely out of sight, that is. Guilt still gnawing at his conscience and unable to bring himself to face Professor Edain in particular, he had taken to remaining belowdecks more often than not; rarely emerging at times if only for a spell of fresh air. This being one of those times, he’s just fortunate enough to hear the warning when it is shouted and braces himself before the ship is pulled into the swirling current of a whirlpool, tossed about like a toy before escaping its hold relatively unharmed.

          Relatively. Little did they know that it was only the beginning of a series of misfortunes plaguing their attempt to reach Almeiira — and why they’re even sailing to an island with a reputation for being cursed is beyond him — as a veritable cloud of seagulls descend in a screeching chorus next, the distraction they bring with their appearance causing the ship’s hull to rake against the shoals. Some fall to the deck with arrows protruding from their bodies, shot down by Leonardo before the rest scatter; a seeming moment of peace before it’s shattered by the loud bang of a collision between the Ichaival and something in the waters. Alfonse hears Rivenn yell something about a rock, and their woes only continue as the ship lurches again, caught in a second whirlpool...

          ...But in an unexpected stroke of fortune, it sends them safely on their way past a cluster of shoals. The Askran releases a breath he’d held without realizing — and nearly chokes on it when the ship hits another patch of them instead, putting the hull through another beating that he wonders if they’ll even make it to shore at this rate.

          To top it all off, the seagulls return for a second round, this time swarming around him irregardless of his attempts to ward them off and, unbelievably enough, mean to lift him up and off the deck altogether. Alfonse flails in their grasp with a yelp, legs kicking at empty air and not at all keen to find out where they might carry him off to if he fails to free himself first. It isn’t enough, to his dismay; only when Rivenn comes to the rescue do the birds finally release him, leaving a handful of feathers clinging to his clothing as tokens of their... affection, one could say.

          “ ...Thank you, Rivenn, ” he coughs awkwardly, visibly ruffled by the ordeal. With the seagulls gone once more, all seems well again at long last; no further mishaps strike as they continue to navigate the waters in relative peace for a time.

          Well, save for one last bump in the road. Where their previous run-in with a rock had been thankfully only a minor collision, this one is much less kind to the Ichaival — and by the time it finally weighs anchor near the shore it’s very clearly seen better days, Rivenn remaining behind to work on repairs while the rest disembark to explore. Even Alfonse goes with them, somewhat relieved to finally stand on solid ground again and having determined that he would only get in the chief of staff’s way by staying, besides.

          Suffice to say, the notion of journeying by sea again is one that no longer appeals to him.